


Hunting

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Kissing, M/M, Magic, wolf transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Jason gets turned into a wolf and Tim has to escape the beast and lift the curse.





	Hunting

The howling is getting closer.

Tim pauses, listening, then rounds another corner of the maze and grips his staff tighter.

His breath plumes white in the air; the night is chilly, the cold seeping through his uniform, cooling the sweat on his back. 

Above, in the black, cloudless sky, hangs the full moon. 

Of course.

Just his and Jason's luck that they happened to go against a spellcaster with a grudge against Batman. The mage didn't appreciate having her ritual interrupted, and now …

Now, Jason is a wolf, mindless with bloodlust, stalking Tim through the overgrown tangle of gnarled trees, vines, and bushes.

The worst of it is that Tim cannot rely on his tech, cannot pick up any heat signatures from the wolf. The magic is too powerful, the wards woven into the curse immune to any non-magical equipment. His comm unit is dead too, so there's no way of contacting the Oracle and calling for help. Which leaves Tim with just his senses to rely on, and a hope that they are sharp enough to let him survive the hunt.

Innocent blood has a great power. Your blood and his, spilled together in the center of the maze, will undo the spell.

These were the mage's last words, before she opened up a portal and disappeared through it without a trace.

So now Tim is trying to get there, to find the heart of the labyrinth, and put an end to this whole mess. That is, if the mage was even telling the truth.

There is no time to think about that, though. He can hear the heavy panting, the autumn leaves crunching under the wolf's paws. He cannot afford to get distracted.

Tim runs, keeping his steps light, his pace fast.

The path meanders, the twigs snatch at his cape, but suddenly the green walls part and he sees a small clearing.

The crumbled white columns rise towards the sky in an uneven circle.

The centre of the maze.

Pulse thudding in his ears, he races there, the sounds of the chase getting louder and louder behind him.

When he turns back, falling into a fighting stance, gripping his staff with both hands, the wolf is already waiting for him.

It crouches low, bright yellow eyes trained on Tim, muscles bunching. Its pelt is sleek and black, melting into the shadows, the whole enormous body made for hunting and killing. Lips draw back in a snarl, the sharp, white fangs gleam in the darkness.

Fear slices through Tim, cold and clammy, every instinct screaming at him to fight or run. 

The wolf pounces.

Tim dodges, spins, blocks the snap of teeth with his staff.

And, like that, their dance starts.

Tim falls into the rhythm, striking and parrying, keeping the wolf at a distance. He puts into it every bit of his training, using his speed and agility to his advantage. But after a while, when they are still at a stalemate, he cannot help but think that the wolf is toying with him.

Playing with its prey.

It makes him hesitate, a mistake which costs him dearly, when the wolf springs up, its body colliding with Tim, taking him down.

He grunts at the impact, the breath knocked out from his lungs.

It's hard to focus, hard not to surrender to a surge of blind panic. He's on his back, the weight atop is crushing his chest. He's lost his staff in the commotion, so he grips the wolf's furry head, pulls, to keep those lethal jaws away from his face. It's his only chance, he has to …

The air crackles with energy.

It vibrates through Tim, ripples through the body pinning him down. And then the thick, soft fur under his fingers disappears, and suddenly he's touching warm skin.

Stunned, Tim looks up, but Jason's eyes are still the eyes of a predator, their color a deep amber, ringed with green. They stare back at him, mocking, cruel, feral with madness.

“Innocent blood, eh?” He smiles, and Tim shivers when he sees the sharp canines. “Are you really that innocent, Replacement?”

“Only way to find out,” he says, and reaches for Tim's collar, rips it open with his claws. Claws, Tim thinks, numb. How …

But then all his thoughts stutter and fizzle out, because Jason bends down to Tim's exposed throat and inhales deeply.

“You smell like fear, Replacement.” Jason's breath teases Tim's jugular. “Sweet.”

And he licks at the vulnerable skin, slow and wet. Heart pounding, Tim can't help a convulsive swallow, the muscles of his throat jumping under Jason's mouth. 

Jason simply laughs at Tim's reaction.

“I gave you this,” he says, voice low, full of satisfaction, as his tongue traces the ridges of the scar left by a serrated blade a long time ago. “I marked you, Replacement. You know what that means, don't you?”

His teeth close over it, dig hard, until they pierce skin, and fresh blood starts welling up, hot and thick. Tim starts to tremble, heart pounding wildly in alarm, as he remembers what it felt like, the pain, the fear, the cold bite of steel.

No, please no, not again. 

But Jason latches onto the patch of skin, bruising it even more, tearing it open. His tongue laps at the blood, the ragged edges of the wound flaring up in both agony and pleasure. Tim gasps, clutches at Jason's broad shoulders. 

Jason laughs again, rolls his hips against Tim's.

When he draws back, his lips are stained crimson, and his eyes glow golden, full of hunger.

Tim can't look away, captured by that gaze.

He feels stripped bare, devoured.

And then Jason grabs him close, razor-sharp claws shredding through Tim's cape, his suit, raking deep gashes across his back. Tim cries out at the burning agony, as more blood flows, and a red haze tints his vision. 

He rears up then in Jason's hold, twists his fingers in the black hair, and yanks this cruel, bloodied mouth straight to his own. He bites at it, vicious, feels the tender skin split, but doesn't let go, even though Jason tries to jerk back.

He pushes, seeking entrance, and Jason parts his lips with a groan, surrendering. Tim tastes blood, his own and Jason's, mingling together, and it's pure power, so all-consuming, so relentless, that his head spins with it, everything inside him burning for more. 

It slows down, gradually, to a gentle press of lips, a lazy tangle of tongues. Normal, weirdly tender. 

Until something wet and hot splashes against Tim's skin.

He frowns and it takes him a moment to understand what it is.

Jason's tears.

Startled, Tim pulls back. 

Jason looks at him, and his eyes are blue, all the ferocity gone, replaced by guilt and self-loathing.

“Tim,” he says, hoarse, and cradles Tim's face with trembling hands. “I ...”

“I know.” Tim reaches up, strokes his thumb over the silvery trail running down Jason's cheek. “It's over.”

He opens his arms, and Jason rests his head against his chest. 

“It's over,” Tim repeats, smoothing his palm over Jason's hair, over Jason's back, as Jason tries to stifle the sobs. “It's over.”

He stares up at the moon, shining cold and distant in the night sky.


End file.
